"Who thinks Emily Lindin is a slut?" They all raised their hands.

                                    

                                          
April 12, 1999
                          
Last night I talked on the phone with Jenna about what to do about the whole Mark situation. She had me convinced that breaking up with him would be for the best - after all, is it fair to be going out with Mark when I am also in love with Jacob?
                          
But when I got to school today, Mark had the sweetness turned on full blast. He defended me when Hunter drew naked pictures of me. Stupid guys do that a lot and I've kind of gotten used to it, but it really pissed Mark off. He also waited for me after Math class so he could walk me to my locker. I just couldn't bring myself to break up with him.
                          
Melanie told me, "On the bus on the way home today, a bunch of retarded eighth graders were like, 'Who thinks Emily Lindin is a slut?' And they all raised their hands. Mark turned around and said, 'Anyone who doesn't put their hand down right now is going to get a serious beating.' They all put their hands down."
                          
I sighed. She continued, "That was sweet of him, Emily. Do you remember when you were going out with Zach? Did he stand up for you when people dissed you? No. Yet you were madly in love with him. Mark is a good kid, and it is a shame. Otherwise you might be able to find a reason to dump him." She is so right. [Melanie is emerging as a wise source of advice. Also, I am nostalgic for the word "diss" ("dis"?).]
                          
I wrote this poem that I guess is kind of like from Mark's perspective. It's like Mark writing a poem to me, I think. It makes me sad.
                          
I wrote you a poem, but it sounded like shit.
                          
So you read it through once, then forgot about it.
                          
I brought you some flowers and knocked on your door,
                          
But you said, "Don't come back to my house anymore."
                          
I gave you some chocolates for Valentine's Day,
                          
"I'm allergic to chocolate," is all you could say.
                          
My shoulder brushed yours; you recoiled at my touch.
                          
Why do you hate me? I love you so much.